


The Softer Side of Dr. D'eorain

by Chubbycubby



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Moira O'Deorain, F/F, First Dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 11:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubbycubby/pseuds/Chubbycubby
Summary: For the life of her, Moira cannot figure out why you sent her flowers for her birthday.





	The Softer Side of Dr. D'eorain

No matter the research lab, there’s always one person that makes it miserable. It’s one thing to be a stickler about notations and methods, but Dr. D’eorain is in a league of her own. She’s as book smart as she is socially stupid, and constantly starts fights with the other researchers in the Overwatch labs.

That being said, Moira is one of your favorite people to work with; her methodology is precise, her ideas grand, and her comebacks brilliant. When her birthday came around you just had to get her a gift!

_That_ being said, Moira hated gifts almost as much as she hated everyone in the lab. You knew she would throw away whatever you got her, so you settled on a bouquet of cut flowers, since they would be discarded at some point anyways.

_That_ being said, you’re sitting in her office, next to said bouquet on her desk, presumably to be disciplined about sending it in the first place. Moira steeples her fingers as she tries to find the words. Finally, she takes a deep breath and asks calmly, “What is the meaning of this?” as she gestures to the vase.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Lavender, violets, calla lilies?”

“You’re a big fan of purple,” you say, glancing at her dress shirt under her lab coat. You could leave it at that, but she’s kind of cute when she’s flustered, so you add, “Also you’re a giant lesbian.”

Moira leans back in her chair and puts her face in her hand before looking up and sarcastically remarking, “Grand.”

Remembering you like having income and working, you say, “If I weirded you out, I’ll gladly take them back. I understand it is not appropriate to come onto a coworker.”

You reach for the vase and suddenly Moira’s arms are around it. “You’re what now?”

“Coming onto you? Yeah, I think you’re brilliant and beautiful,” you say with a shrug.

Moria is as always intelligent to other people, but… beautiful? It was so stupid to get caught up in something so meaningless and superficial, but she supposed some mainstream ideas have impressed upon her. She tries to file away that compliment, but your smile makes it impossible.  


“Should I go then?”

“You don’t have to leave!” she shouts so suddenly her whole face blooms red.

“Do you want to go to dinner tonight, or never talk about this again?”

The first option sounded like public and people, which she abhorred, but not as much as wasting a chance. “Dinner it is.”

///

The restaurant is so packed, you and Moira have been sitting in the waiting area looking at menus for the last ten minutes, with another forty to go on a table. A reservation would have been best, but you didn’t know until three PM on a Friday that you were going out, so you have to make do.

“Do you know what you want?” you say over the roar of the crowd.

Moira points out a club sandwich, and you go to the hostess stand to place the order so you can take it to-go.

“We have a pager. Let’s wait outside,” you say, offering your arm.

Moira takes the offer, just glad to be out of the noise. You two listen to the leaves rustling through the parking lot for a moment before you say, “Hey, help me find a good whiskey.” while nodding towards a place next door in the strip mall.

“I must know if you are referring to whiskey with an e or whiskey without,” she asks coyly as she follows you.

“Whiskey with and e, and that’s a Gaelic e, not an American e,” you reply, smiling smugly because you know you’ve outwitted her condescension game before it had even begun. Her dusty rose lips curl up, even if she wants to be mad at you, and she agrees to go inside and give her best opinion

The whiskey options at small drugstores are limited, but luckily Moira’s second favorite is there. You found the perfect spot to park, on the edge of town at a closed restaurant, where the light is dim enough to see the stars twinkling. Moira finished her food a long time ago, but wishes she had more if only because that gave her something to do.

You finally finish the last bite of yours, remarking, “Wanna crack this bad bitch open?” as you grab the bottle behind you.

“Allow me,” she says, taking the bottle from you and twisting off the cap. You open the lid of your to-go cup from the restaurant.

“Wait, maybe I should take notes on the art of the pour,” you quip. She rolls her eyes and screws the lid back on, remembering an argument the two of you had over how to pour from a graduated cylinder. Cutely, you tease, “Aw, don’t be mad at me, _macushla_.”

Moira’s heart races when hears you call her darling in the old language and she wonders what’s happening. She only agreed to this date because it is necessary to establish as many ties inside Overwatch as possible, but now you’re looking at her so carignly she doesn’t want to think about any of that. Moira’s voice is soft and her face is hot when she replies, “Never.” surprised to find she means it, despite putting the bottle down.

“I like your tie,” you say, picking up the silk strand in your hand. “Purple.”

“I thought since you sent violets, I would match…” she replies, inching closer to you until you pull her in the rest of the way. Her heart skips a beat when your lips meet with force, but you ease up, kissing Moira as gently as you would handle a microscope slide. She smiles as your mouths become closer with each small movement, until you finally release her tie so you can close the distance your hand created.

You’ve seen brief moments where you’ve gotten under her skin, but nothing like this. Your hands cradle around her face to curtail her impatience, any time for your lips to return too long. Each time you pull away tortures her and she insistently tugs at your collar despite your slow and steady pace. Slowly, though, you do move closer, rubbing her far leg for a few moments before you begin subtly pulling her closer until she is almost in your lap.

“Do you wanna go back to my place? Or yours?” you ask.

“Yours,” Moira answers, knowing she can’t risk having someone inside her small base.

The drive to your apartment is a test, as now it’s Moira’s turn to work your into a lather. She strokes your legs, that feather light touch ghosting over your skin as her nails skim and skip over the flesh. Just when you think you can shut it out, her attention shifts inward and four nails trail along your inner thigh, making you white knuckle the steering wheel and hope the autopilot does what it’s supposed to.

“You’re pure evil,” you say at the last stoplight before your apartment.

“You have no idea,” she replies as one nail tip lightly scrapes the top of your thigh, the sensation dulled by your clothes, but not enough to save you from a shiver. You continuously shift in your seat, unsure if you should spread your legs and give into the shivers or ignore this entirely and be safe.

Once you’re free of that red light, it’s only another block to the complex, and from there it’s only a second to park. The moment the car settles, Moira is kissing you again, her mouth urgently locked onto yours. You two might have stayed out there all night if a car door closing didn’t startle you both. It’s only another tenant, but it finally summons you both to your front door.

Admittedly, you never thought you would get this far and you panic trying to remember where you kept your harness. Luckily Moira doesn’t seem to notic, too focused on how your hand felt in hers as you lead her to the bedroom. She sits down on your bed first, and you take your place beside her. Your kiss here is as delicate as the pink that graced her cheeks, careful not to spook the woman who rarely opens up to anyone. You give her a moment to breathe, and she returns a shy smile you never saw before.

“Are you ready, beautiful?” you murmur as you tuck back a strand of her hair that escaped her styling. You can tell she’s not used to compliments, the way she looks at her hands. You take this soft, pale hands in yours and kiss them, her eyes meeting your gaze when you look into hers like she’s a present from heaven.

This dalliance was counterproductive to her research at all and yet… she doesn’t want to ever leave this room, and she dare not squander your affection: “I am.”

Your lips meet her neck lovingly and Moira shivers as you slip off her tie and toss it onto the floor. You free that top button, giving the newly revealed skin the attention her neck had received. As you work down the clasps, you’re surprised to find a few freckles on her chest, appreciating each of them as much as you appreciate that she doesn’t wear a bra.

The chill of the October air sneaking into your apartment made her nipples perk instantly at being freed. You squeeze her small but supple breasts as you kiss each freckle in between, giving all of this beauty the worship it deserves. Your mouth on her neck was careful, but on her chest you deign to leave little red marks that would fade long after this night was over.

You can’t get over how sweet her skin tastes, or how much she quivers when you suck on her nipples. Pushing the shirt farther out prompts Moira to finish removing it, and your hands are around her waist before it even hits the ground. Arching your back out, you begin moving those kisses down her lithe torso, your suckles stopping just above her navel before you pull back and admire her body almost glowing in the dim light.

“You’re like a work of art,” you murmur, “Nature’s finest.”

At the mention of nature, Moira scoffs and pulls you into her lips again, the kiss searing all other thoughts from your mind. You didn’t know she could be this passionate and heated, but her tongue proves your assumption wrong. As if to assert control, you push forward, her mouth flush against yours before she relents and leans back into the mattress.

It’s only when Moira is lying down that you remember you should be undressing her. The adrenaline unsteadies your hands, but you find her belt buckle and fumble it open all the same. Her body rises to allow to pull the thread through, and you beg her with a kiss to stay this close for a moment longer. She obeys and undoes her own pants, sliding them down but leaving her underwear intact. You fingers find the lace first, before you break away to admire the ode to pink femininity that covered her.

“Damn, you’re pretty,” you murmur as you begin tracing the slit through her panties. The thin fabric easily clings to every curve and the pads of your fingers gradually push in despite the barrier. You want to torment her forever, and not in the least because you are still not super sure where your harness is.

Besides, Moira looks extra cute when she mewls like that, trying to retain some semblance of her stony exterior by pleading, “Hurry up about it!”

Yet somehow actually pulling off her underwear overwhelms her, and the kisses to her legs only made her more tense. It takes your hands wandering and warming a stripe up her inner thighs for her legs to finally part and reveal her sex to you.

“You’re gorgeous all over,” you coo, and she relaxes into the sheets. Despite her demand, you move slowly, tracing her slit carefully as you memorize how the orange curls framing her pale lips and pink labia, already glistening with want. Moira’s hesitance erodes into temptation, her legs opening a little wider with every small circle trailing under her hole.

Temptation quickly builds up into lust as a finger traces from the bottom, up to the top before serpentining back down the path of pleasure. On the second pass back, you bring that finger to your mouth taste the doctor thoroughly. Moira is practically crying under your gaze, desperate enough to relieve this heat by rubbing her clitoris herself, those long claws dangerously close to tender parts.

You don’t doubt she knows what she’s doing, but you take her hand away anyways. You can’t suck on the talons, but you can lap around each one and torture her with how deftly your tongue works them cleam. She tries with the other hand, but you snatch that one too, holding them above her.

You lean down, putting her hands on your head as you adjust and move her so that your mouth is by her pussy. She eagerly guides you, but you resist her insistence, tormenting her with the lightest kiss on her slit. As you slowly work deeper into her folds, her exhales become sighs of contentment that become sharper as you move farther in a nanometer at a time. Once you taste her, though, your patience vanishes and you greedily lick as much of her slick as you can. You bury sucking kisses all over her sex, listening to her cries to determine what’s most sensitive while you build heat in her stomach.

The way she pulls at your head, you know that hole needs love, and you taste her center over and over, each movement smaller than the last. When you’ve all but stopped, you slide your tongue in, curling the tip to pleasure just inside of her entrance. She tastes sublime, the salt and the tang enticing you to dive deeper inside and draw all of her out. By the way she’s shaking and covering your face in wet, you swear she’s coming but you don’t slow your pace, relentless in your need for more of her shy side.

As her claws tear you upwards, you withdraw your tongue enough so you can follow her desires. The slow migration makes her thighs taut in your grip as you gradually arrive to the most sensitive tip on her body. You pause under her clitoris and you swear she’s going to break if you wait any longer.

Your upper lip moves over the small mound, letting your tongue under hood before it lost its grip. Your tongue circles her clit as you gently suck, starting softly until she can take the friction of a full swipe, and the strength of the tip. One hand releases her leg to find her hole, tracing the opening once before sliding inside. As she moans, those fingers curl up and sending Moira more pleasure than she can handle. Her hips buck, but your tongue never leaves her clit as she tips into climax.

All at once she pushes up on your, hands holding you in place as she desperately moans your name. Your fingers saw her even after her back returns to the bed, until she finally pushes you away. You lick your lips as you finally sit up, but Moira doesn’t see it through her half-closed eyes. Feeling satisfied with yourself, you go fetch a towel before anymore of her drips onto your sheets.

“You alive?” you ask cheekily as you arrive with the towel, opting to help her out yourself. She’s overly sensitive, and lazily takes control so that the pleasant aftershocks don’t sour.

“We didn’t even drink the whiskey,” she mutters.

“That’s alright. We’ll save it for coffee,” you say, “if you want to stay.”

“Mmmhmm…” she hums, already half-asleep.

You smile as you look down on her, murmuring, “Happy birthday, Dr. D’eorain,” while wondering how anyone could think Dr. D’eorain is evil.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I'm going to try to write more F/F in the future!


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